Words, words and more words...

I had a latent impression that there was something decidedly fine in Mr. Wopsle's elocution - not for old associations' sake, I am afraid, but because it was very slow, very dreary, very up-hill and down-hill, and very unlike any way in which any man in any natural circumstances of life or death ever expressed himself about anything- Charles Dickens

An example when to many words about something leads to confusion:

An anecdote from Edith Wharton (1862-1937) the American Novelist.

During her motoring holidays in England, she sometimes took Henri James, the writer, with her. On one trip the chauffeur brought them in to Windsor after dark, but did not know the way to the King's Road, their destination.

While I was hesitating and peering out into the darkness James spied an ancient dodering man who had stopped in the rain to gaze at us. 'Wait a moment, my dear - I'll ask him where we are'; and leaning out he signalled to the spectator.

'My good man, if you'll be good enough to come here, please; a little nearer -so.' and as the old man came up: 'My friend, to put it to you in two words, this lady and I have just arrived here from Slough; that is to say , to be more strickly accurate, we have recently passed through Slough on our way here, having actually motored to Windsor from Rye, which was out point of depature; and the darkness having overtaken us, we should be much obliged if you would tell us where we are now in relation, say, to the High Street which, as you of course know, leads to the Castle, after leaving on the left hand the turn down to the railway station.'

I was not surprise to have this extraordinary appeal met by silence, and a dazed
expression on the old wrinkled face at the window; nor to James to go on: ' In short' (his invariable prelude to a fresh series of explanatory ramifications),
' in short, my good man, what I want to put to you in a word is this: supposing we have already (as I have reason to think we have) driven past the turn down to the railway station (which in that case, by the way, would probably not have been on our left hand, but on our right) where are we now in relation to...'

'Oh' please,' I interrupted, feeling myself utterly unable to sit through another parenthesis, 'do ask him where the King's Road is?'

'Ah-? The King's Road? Just so! Quite right! Can you, as a matter of fact, my good man, tell us where, in relation to our present position, the King's Road exactly is?'

'Ye're in it,' said the aged face at the window.

-Edith Warton, A Backward Glance.

Shakespeare is the happy hunting ground of all minds that have lost their balance-James Joyce